


Blood Thirsty Bastards

by Zetaori



Category: Primeval
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetaori/pseuds/Zetaori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world. Becker and Connor are the only people left. They get in the car and start driving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Thirsty Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read/comment on LJ, you can find the story [here](http://zetaori.livejournal.com/15832.html).

Connor opens his eyes and blinks against the blinding sun. He realises he's lying on the ground, but he can't really remember how he got there. There are only vague images of something burning, exploding, and oh my God, all that noise, and then this distinct feeling of losing the ground under his feet. He thinks of roller-coaster rides, memories of laughter and pretending to fly for just a few seconds.

This feels nothing like it. This is bottomless panic, honest fear of death, and the clear, roaring thought of _not now, I don't want to die, not now_. This is falling down and hitting bottom, air being pressed out of lungs. And being alive hurts and it's like he's stealing every single breath from the world by pretending to be still alive, when he's actually already dead. He certainly feels like being dead.

He can't hear anything except a shrill beeping and a low hum, the after-effects of the explosion. He can still smell, though, and that's how he knows something must be on fire. He forces himself up on his elbows to look around. Smoke bites in his eyes and lungs, and his ribcage hurts when he coughs weakly.

Something is wrong. He's still not quite sure what it is, but there's something missing. And then he sees the body, a few steps away, and he's pretty sure that this must be the end of the world, right now. He's on his feet, stumbling over, before he can realise how much everything hurts once he's moving.

"Becker!" he shouts, his voice damped and strange in his own ears. He starts to babble away without really listening to himself, a long stream of _Becker, please don't be dead, you can't be dead, oh my God, I can't survive one hour without you, so don't you dare be dead now, please_. When he's close enough to see that Becker's chest is still moving with long and deep breaths, he breaks down next to him, all strength suddenly leaving his body. He seriously considers passing out for a little while.

A few minutes later, he gathers up the courage to check on Becker, and there's blood everywhere, and he really should do something about that. It's just that he has no clue.  
"Come on," he whispers to himself and the figure on the ground. "Don't panic. Just don't panic."

He takes a deep breath and shakes Becker's shoulder. Becker's eyes fly open, and the pained grunt he tries to bite back unsuccessfully is something Connor really doesn't want to think too much about. At a loss about what to do, he touches Becker's head where his black hair looks dark and wet, and realises it's the one of the silliest things he's ever done when Becker rears up and falls back with a dull moan.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he mumbles, and quickly takes his hands away, weirdly surprised by the fact they're covered in blood. Becker breathes in quick, hitched gasps and turns his head with obvious effort.

"Connor," he says, his voice heavy with pain. "Are you okay?"

Connor is still watching his blood-stained hands. He knows he should answer, but the question doesn't make any sense to him right now.

"Look at me," Becker says. "Look at me, Connor."

Connor recognizes the calm, sharp voice Becker uses when Connor is about to panic.

Connor knows he shouldn't panic. Panic never helps anyone. But now he remembers a plane, and suddenly he knows why there's smoke everywhere. And if the fact that they've just survived a plane crash and that the pilot is nowhere to be seen (although there could be a body somewhere, Connor hasn't dared to look for that yet) and Becker is obviously hurt and Connor knows he sucks at surviving isn't a reason to panic, he doesn't know what is.

Becker grabs him at the wrist and jerks, hard. Connor gasps and focuses back. Okay. Okay, he can do this.

"Okay," he says.

Becker lets go off his arm. "One more time, Connor, are you okay?"

"Yes," Connor says, quickly. "Yeah, I'm okay." At least he thinks he is. No, he's pretty sure he is.

"Good. That's good," Becker says. "Are we safe here?"

"Okay," Connor repeats, rather stupidly. "Okay, let me see."

He raises his head and looks around for the first time. There's the burning wreck of a small aircraft, no bodies, nothing else. Just dirt and rocks and hills.

"Yes," he says. "Yeah, we're safe."

His hearing has mostly returned, and he strains to listen for any sound, but there's just the crackling of the fire and the sun sizzling down on the ground.

Becker doesn't respond for a while, and Connor is afraid he's gone unconscious again. He really doesn't want to shake him a second time. Without warning, Becker clenches his teeth and tries to sit up. Connor reaches out to help him, but Becker swats his hands away and it's probably better this way. Fear clenches in Connor's stomach as more and more of their current situation seeps into his awareness, because basically, everything about this means they're totally screwed.

"We're totally screwed," Connor says before he can stop himself.

"Fantastic, Temple. Very helpful," Becker groans.

Now that Connor can see his back, he thinks that now at the _latest_ is the right time to panic. Before he can form a coherent thought, Becker looks at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Connor wonders how it is possible that Becker just needs one look to not only shut up his talking, but also shut up his thoughts. He blinks and looks back.

"There's a laceration at my head."

"Oh," Connor says.

"And I'm pretty sure my shoulder is broken."

There's a quick moment of silence, and then Connor starts to talk about how they'll be okay, he'll get help, he'll be back in no time, and Becker will be okay, everything will be okay, really, and then another look from Becker stops him right in the middle of another _it'll be okay_.

"Connor, listen to me," Becker says. "There is no help."

Connor knows that. Connor remembers. There is no help. There will never be help.

"Come here," Becker says, and Connor crawls forward, knees scraping over sharp rocks. He's so close that he can smell blood, pain and suppressed despair. Becker's pupils are big and dark, his mouth a tiny line, and he's shivering all over in the glaring sun. Connor can't do this. He just can't.

"You have to stop the bleeding."

Connor can feel himself shaking his head. He suddenly can't remember how to control his body. Everything is such a bloody _mess_. He can't get one thought straight in his head.

"Connor, think about it. Just think about it. We have no choice."

And Becker, Becker who's hurting so much, and Connor has no idea how he manages to be conscious and so confident and so much more competent than Connor will ever be, tries to get up to reach his bag, and only then Connor can move again.

He leans forward to grab the black bag he has never dared to touch before, and he's always wondered what's in there. He opens it slowly, nearly reverently, and peeks inside carefully.

"Connor!"

Connor startles and snatches a few packages with some white fabric.

He crouches behind Becker while peeling gauze out of plastic. He manages to hesitate just one moment before he presses it right where most of the blood seems to come from. Becker screams out once, and that's it. They just stay like that. Connor doesn't dare to move, afraid he'll hurt Becker even more.

"Like that?" he asks tentatively.

"Yeah," Becker says.

Connor realises he's close to hyperventilating, and he tries to calm down.

"You're doing great, okay?" Becker says.

"Okay."

But there's a thought that keeps nagging at the back of Connor's mind, something he needs to think about soon, something important. Oh, right. "Where's the pilot?"

"I think the bleeding has stopped," Becker says.

Connor carefully peels away the gauze, trying not to hear the sharp intake of breath. He peeks underneath. He can't really see anything.

"Yeah," he says. He tries to concentrate on what Becker has said. _The bleeding has stopped_. That's good. That's very good. It'll all be okay now.

"Listen," Becker says. "There's some antiseptics in the bag."

Connor feels a new wave of panic bubbling up when realises he has to move again to get it. His limbs crack in protest against the uncomfortable position he's been staying in for an immeasurable amount of time. Also, he's shaking all over.

"Antiseptics," he mumbles to himself, thinking, _focus, Connor, focus_.

"And bring a needle and some thread."

Connor immediately drops the bottle he's just picked up from the bag.

 _No way_ , he thinks. _Just, no. No way._

Becker's whole face is full of blood and dirt, but he still looks at him like that, and Connor hears himself say, "Okay."

He comes over, drops everything down on the ground and fumbles with the bottle of antiseptics.

"Just pour it over, yeah?" he asks.

"Wash your hands first."

Oh, Connor thinks. That makes sense. He looks around. "With what?"

"Water, Connor. Water."

"Water," Connor repeats, calling himself an idiot in his head over and over again. Of course there's a bottle in the bag, and he rinses his hands, trying to do it slowly and thoroughly, watching the red trickle seep away in the ground.

"Hurry up, okay?" Becker says.

Connor drops everything, again. "Sorry."

He picks up the antiseptic and tilts Becker's head down a bit, forgetting that he has the already-opened bottle in the same hand. A few drops run out and Becker hisses in surprise.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Connor says quickly.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands any more, so he just puts one on Becker's shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner and pours the antiseptics with the other. Becker gasps in pain, but he doesn't move away. Connor waits and eyes the needle and thread he's brought over suspiciously.

"I've seen it in films, actually," he says suddenly, startling himself more than Becker. "You know, people stitching people up. Seen it thousands of time. I think I can do this. Shouldn't be too hard, right? Just …" He gesticulates a stitching movement until he can finally stop himself.

"You can do this, Connor," Becker says.

And then Connor does it. He prepares the needle, his hands suddenly calm and quick, and then he makes the first puncture. He just keeps on talking and sewing and talking, and then he's done. It looks right to him. Becker is still alive.

Connor leans back in exhaustion, a weird, bubbly feeling forming deep down in his chest, and before he knows what happens, a smile breaks its way up to his face.

"We did it," he says. "We did it!"

He's not totally sure, but he thinks he's proud of himself right now. It's a feeling that has become unfamiliar.

He drinks from the water bottle he still has right next to him and hands it over to Becker. Becker takes it carefully with his left hand, takes a sip and empties the rest of it over his head. The water turns red and brown when it drops from his face.

"What about your shoulder?" Connor asks.

"What about it?"

"You said it's –"

"I know what I said. There's nothing we can do about it. I'll just have to …"

Connor stares at the ground in front of him. The short glimpse of happiness twists and dies in his stomach. Then he realises the reason why Becker didn't finish his sentence wasn't that he didn't know what to say next.

He looks up to see Becker's eyes wide, a finger hovering somewhere over his mouth in a half-finished gesture of _for God's sake keep quiet_. He knows that look. He knows it far too well. Very slowly, without making a sound, he turns around. At first, he can't see anything. There's just more ground and the blinding sun. But then, he sees a tiny dark spot on the hilltop. Then a few more. Three sharp breaths later, it's all too clear what they are.

"Run," Becker whispers.

Connor can't take his eyes off the silhouettes that are growing larger so scarily quickly.

"Now!" Becker shouts, and suddenly Connor is on his feet before he even knows what he's doing, and Becker grabs the bag and they run. Connor hears nothing but his heart pounding in his chest, his stupid, treacherous, loudly beating heart. Becker is always half a step in front of him, and he just follows him, forcing his body to go faster and faster.

He doesn't really see where they're going, but just when he thinks he can't do this any longer, he'll break down right here right now, the ground under his feet feels different. It's asphalt, which means they've made it to a street. Becker grabs him and pushes him into the first empty car, throwing the bag after him and slamming the door shut. Connor tries to catch his breath and at the same time look out for Becker, who slides in the car a few seconds later.

Connor has just opened his mouth, hearing himself saying something like _oh my God I think we made it_ , but Becker shoots him a look and he shuts up. He tries to listen over the sound of his own pants. He's positive there are scratching sounds around them, like claws crawling over car paint from every direction, and one time he thinks there might be something directly over their heads. After that, it's silent.

Connor doesn't dare to say anything or even move until Becker breathes out in relief.

"I think they've gone."

And it's only when Connor tries to shift and move his aching muscles that he realises how much he's shaking.

They listen for a few more minutes, but it's completely quiet.

"Do you think you can drive?" Becker asks him.

"Huh?" Connor needs a few seconds to understand what Becker is referring to, but then he sees the steering wheel in front of him. There are two things that seem immediately wrong with this. One thing, he manages to figure out quite quickly.

"Right, drive. We're in a car," Connor states.

"Yes, we are."  
Connor isn't sure if Becker tries to be reassuring or if he's just making fun of him. Connor thinks he'd deserve both.  
Another few seconds pass before Connor realises he is also in the driver's seat.

Now that he's pieced everything together, he wills his cramped legs on the pedals and fumbles around the ignition lock. "The keys are gone."

"Okay," Becker says, obviously trying to keep calm. "Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"

"Right," Connor says. "Right."

He ducks under the dashboard, hitting his head with a loud smack on his way down, and pulls at some wires.

It takes him full thirty minutes to realise it's not going to work.

"I think the electronics are dead," he mutters, appearing back from underneath the wheel.

Becker doesn't react. When Connor looks over, he sees that his eyes are shut. Connor's heart skips a beat. A _please, please, wake up_ is already on the tip of his tongue when Becker answers.

"Must be the EMP," he says slowly.

Connor rubs over his eyes and feels stupid. He considers pretending to have thought of this from the beginning, but it wouldn't change anything. "Oh, yeah."

There's a long silence.

"We should go," Becker says finally. "We're pretty much trapped here."

"Yeah," Connor says, looking sceptically out of the window. He doesn't want to say that, trapped or not, he feels a lot safer in a car than outside.

Becker straightens up and tries to reach for the bag that's fallen somewhere behind them. In the middle of the movement, something crumples in Becker's face, and he falls back with a grunt of pain that makes Connor flinch.

"Or we could just stay for a while," Connor says very quietly.

"Yeah," Becker says. "Yeah, we could do that too."

\---

Connor doesn't want to wake Becker, not when he's finally fallen asleep after hours of obvious pain. But it's getting dark and Connor really doesn't know what to do. He doesn't even know where they are. If he shifts around and accidentally makes some noise and maybe even hits Becker, it's an accident and in no way done on purpose.

Of course Becker is immediately fully awake. There's a question forming behind his eyes, probably wondering if something has happened, if they're still safe, but he seems to decide to look around for himself. Connor could've told him they're fine. There had been nothing but quietness for the last few hours. Apart from the immediate mortal danger and everything, it was actually pretty boring.

"So," Connor says, drawing out the vowel because he really doesn't know what should follow after that. He glances around helplessly. "It's getting dark."

It was really just about saying anything to break the silence, but deep line of worry appears on Becker's forehead in response.

"So what's the plan?" Connor asks, regretting it the second he hears his own words. He really expects Becker to snap at him for expecting a plan, to shout about how it should be very clear, even to someone like Connor, that there is no plan, that there cannot possibly be a plan, that the plan was to never end up like that.

Instead, Becker narrows his eyes and peeks out of the window. "There are a lot of cars out there. We should be able to find an older one, one that doesn't have so many electronics in it. If you manage to get it running, we can use it for transport and maybe shelter."

Connor looks out, but he can see nothing in the darkness.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, let's do that."

Becker gives him a brief nod and pulls a huge gun out of his bag. Connor can feel his heart speed up, preparing for another run. He thinks, _oh God_ , this is his life now.

Becker shouts, "Go!" and Connor gets out of the car and runs. He dodges where Becker dodges, hides behind cars when he hides, sprints after him if he sprints and it's actually very easy.

They pass car after car, all parked without order and deserted in a great hurry. Some of them still have their doors opened. He tries not to look too hard, in case there are still bodies in there. They stop somewhere, and Connor closes his eyes, just for one second, and his mind is suddenly flooded with images, pictures in the news and the internet from all over the world, and something dark and scary latches onto his mind, until Becker's voice breaks through.

"Do you think you could do that?"

Connor honestly has no idea what he's talking about. "Huh?"

"Connor, this car. Look at it. Do you think you could get it running?"

Connor blinks, trying to focus back. He looks at the car. It's too dark to tell the colour, but he can make out the sign of a Chevrolet. "I … I don't know," he says. "How old is it?"

He sees that Becker swallows down a _how should I know_. He makes a sign that Connor assumes means something like be right back, and Connor slumps down on the ground, trying not to listen into the darkness.

A few seconds later, Becker is back. "I'd say seventies or eighties. I can't tell for sure." Becker sighs, obviously frustrated with himself. "So what do you think? Can you do it?"

Connor thinks that seventies or eighties is a pretty big difference, and he really can't say anything before he's seen the electronics, or at least the interior, but Becker looks at him and he knows this is really the moment to answer that question. "Yeah, I think I can."

Becker claps his shoulder. "Good."

"Yeah," Connor says under his breath when Becker is already busy checking the car for weaknesses and loading his bag in. Connor just hopes Becker's trust is justified for once.

\---

In the end, it works. Connor disconnects and reconnects a lot of cables, only knowing half of the time what he's actually doing, but he keeps giving reassuring smiles whenever Becker's raised eyebrow is anywhere near him. Apart from the one time he almost electrocuted himself, and also apart from the time where there was a loud bang and smoke started coming out of nowhere and he simply had no idea what he had done, although Becker didn't seem to believe him on that one, everything goes pretty smoothly.

The first few times, the motor dies on him when he turns the keys that fortunately still were in the ignition lock, but he keeps shouting excuses into the uncomfortable silence that follows. He still has hope left, and he thinks Becker has too, somewhere deep down, and he's sure they'll both need it for some more time.

It definitely sounds a lot like hope when the motor roars up and settles down into a happy purr, and Connor might have clapped his hands and waved them around a bit in joy. Becker falls down in the seat next to him. He looks tired and worn out, but Connor thinks that maybe he sees a bit of relief in his face.

Connor waits for something to happen until he realises he's sitting on the driver's seat again. The fact that Becker hasn't shoved him away might mean he actually wants him to drive. Connor swallows. It's not that he can't drive. It's just that Becker can drive so much better.

"So, where to?" Connor asks, enthusiasm slightly faked.

"West," Becker says. He lets his head roll back against the headrest. "Just west."

Connor looks around and notices he doesn't have his compass with him.

"And where are we, then, exactly?"

"East," Becker answers. And just when Connor thinks he's making fun of him, Becker sighs. It sounds desperate and horrible. "Very far east."

"Okay," Connor says. Sometimes, even he manages to shut up. He zigzags between the parked cars, trying very hard not to hit any of them because he'd never live that down.

And then, they are on the open road.

"Okay," Connor says, his foot pressing down on the accelerator pedal. "Here we go."

\---

Becker tells Connor to pull over when the sun rises. They stop at an open patch of green, because, as Becker tells him, "At least we'll see them coming here."

It's their first rest after six hours of driving, and Connor knows he should be tired, but he's really not. He's hungry, though. He rummages through the supplies, hoping for some original Yorkie chocolate bars.

Becker has disappeared a few minutes ago with the words _stay close_ , and Connor decides it would be a really good idea to go looking for him. He grabs a few bars from the bag and looks around. He thinks he can hear a river somewhere, and he knows rivers are important. That's the first thing to look for when you're lost. At least in fantasy novels, he reminds himself, and this is definitely not a fantasy plot. He sets off in the direction of the sound anyway.

Connor finds the river, which is actually more of a tiny brook, and Becker at the same time. Becker stands in the water, his gear scattered all along the bank together with his blood-drenched shirt. Actually, he seems to be wearing nothing but his trousers that are rolled up to his knees. Connor notices he's washing the blood off his body, and he also notices he's moving very carefully, keeping his shoulder still.

It's an unfamiliar sight, and for a second Connor thinks Becker is becoming careless, making himself vulnerable like that, but then he notices the constant, beeping sound from somewhere underneath the clothes, the rhythm calming him instantly because he knows they're as safe as they can be. Then, Connor realises he's been staring for minutes, and he really doesn't know what to do about it.

"Have you tried the mobile yet?"

Connor drops the chocolate and bends down to pick it up again. He has no idea how Becker knew he was standing there, but he really shouldn't be that surprised.

"No. I mean, yeah. I mean, I tried, but it isn't working. The net must be down."

Becker doesn't answer, and Connor doesn't really expect him to. "You okay there?" he asks after a while.

"Sure," Becker says immediately.

"Doesn't look like you're okay," Connor says. "Come on, let me help you."

It's only when he's splashing into the water that he realises this is actually a very bad idea. For one, the water is cold and soaks his shoes and trousers. Also, Becker looks like he's about to murder him.

"I mean," Connor says very quickly, "I can remove that bandage on your head, and clean it, and, you know, make a new one."

Becker rolls his eyes.

"If you like," Connor adds.

"Clean my wound with this water?" Becker verifies.

"Uhm, no. Of course not."

"Thank you," Becker says. "That's very thoughtful."

If Connor didn't know better, he'd think that Becker had just made a joke.

The corner of Connor's lips twitch for a second, before Becker looks at him.  
The look makes Connor ask himself if he actually wanted to offer Becker to wash his back or something. It's getting more and more ridiculous by the second.

"Get out of the water, Temple," Becker says, resigned but with an obvious hint of amusement.

"Oh, sure," Connor says and splashes back to the bank.

"Don't make my clothes wet," Becker adds, looking at Connor's dripping trousers.

"Yeah," Connor says and takes a couple of steps back. He hesitates for half a second before he makes the only reasonable decision and goes back to the car to get the first aid stuff, leaving Becker to finish cleaning himself. He really doesn't want to see Becker flinching whenever he moves his left arm too much. He doesn't want to worry about Becker. It's exhausting and devastating and feels so very wrong.

When he returns, Becker has waded out of the water and carefully eases his shirt over his shoulders.

"You know, I think you could do with some new clothes," Connor says to break the silence.

"Yeah," Becker lets his gear snap into place and settles down on the ground. Connor peels off the bandage.

"How does it look?"

"Um," Connor says honestly.

"Is it still bleeding?"

Connor is not sure he wants to examine the wound in detail, but then he takes all his courage and probes at it.

"Ow!" Becker shouts in surprise.

"Nope, it's not bleeding any more," Connor announces happily, looking at his finger.

Becker snorts at him, sounding somewhat indignant. "Just put something on it, will you?"

Connor makes another bandage and thinks he's actually becoming quite good at it. Becker stretches his muscles, gets up and looks around warily. "Come on."

Connor drives again because Becker isn't complaining. The road stretches out before him. His hands lock around the wheel. It almost feels like home already.

\---

"No, Connor," Becker says, obviously trying to keep his voice down, but it's clear he's very, very annoyed. "I won't wear any of this."

He shoves an armful of clothes back at Connor, who has to grab quickly before everything falls on the floor.

"Why not? Look, this one has a really cool–"

"I don't care how _cool_ you think they are."

Connor can't help but grin, secretly of course, at the desperate look on Becker's face.

"All right, all right," Connor says, holding up his arms in mock surrender. He moves over to the next stack of clothes, this time skimming through shirts. He can barely contain his excitement, but he tries really hard because some part of him keeps telling him that this is a serious situation and he's being silly. The other part, however, jumps up and down in his head because this is just so _fun_. He's always dreamed of being in a shop alone, and just take whatever he wants. Well, maybe clothes wouldn't have been his first choice, but it's certainly better than nothing.

He spots a seriously awesome shirt and already pulls at it when Becker is suddenly behind him.

"Let's make one thing very clear, Temple," he says, his eyes flaring.

Connor shrinks a few inches.

"I will not, under any circumstances, no matter how hard you try, wear anything that tight, colourful, or, for that matter, anything you choose." And with that, he turns around and storms off into the opposite direction.

"Fair enough," Connor says as he hurries after him. "You choose."

Becker shoots him another flaring look.

"I'll shut up, I promise!"

Becker rolls his eyes, but lets Connor follow him. He needs less than five minutes to pull out jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket. "I'm done. Let's go."

There's a moment of silence where both listen to the rhythmical beeps from the oscilloscope which Connor carries in a shoulder bag that he's picked off the shelves earlier.

"But you have to try them on!"

"For heaven's sake." Becker drops down his bag, shoves the gun at Connor and pulls at his shirt.

"Oh," Connor says and turns around quickly. He realises there's no need for changing rooms, but still. _Still_. He's glad that he can't see Becker rolling his eyes again, and instead sets off with the gun to check the surroundings.

"We should pack some food before we go," Becker shouts after him a few minutes later.

Connor returns, trying not to feel too embarrassed. No matter how many action films he's watched, no matter how often he's trained in front of the mirror, he knows he still looks awkward.

Becker has changed, and Connor realises he's never seen him outside of his uniform. Becker watches him watching him. And then there's something like a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "And I think I could use some new boots to go with those jeans."

\---

Connor remembers. The memories come back gradually, unasked and unwanted. He thinks he could remember everything at once if he just wanted to, but he prefers not to think about it when he doesn't have to. But his thoughts trail off too easily with the road a black endlessness in front of him and the world nothing but a blur in the side window. Becker has his eyes screwed shut in concentration like he could make his shoulder mend quicker if he just tried hard enough.

"So the pilot –" Connor says.

"Yes," Becker interrupts him, saving him from having to say it out loud. _Got eaten_.

"Yeah."

The silence is killing him. There's only the sound of his fingers drumming on the wheel, and he stills them with great effort.

"You know, I can't really remember what happened after we left," he says, talking for no particular reason except he thinks he'll go crazy otherwise.

Becker doesn't answer, so Connor keeps rambling on. "I mean, I just woke up after the crash, and I didn't know exactly how we got there. But there was so much going on, I didn't realise." He shoots a quick glance over to Becker, who stares ahead. There's something in his eyes that should be pity, but Connor thinks it looks more like envy.

"We crashed right when we reached land, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Becker says. His voice sounds different, drowsy.

"Why?"

"You tell me," Becker says. "I think the instruments went down. Maybe the after-effects of the EMP."

"That's what I thought," Connor says. He keeps forgetting about the electromagnetic pulse, but he won't admit it. His throat hurts because he hasn't spoken for hours. He feels his hands relax around the wheel.

"It was like they were waiting for us," Becker says.

Connor stares over, confused and slightly scared. It's the first time Becker actually talks on his own accord.

"They had him pulled out of the cockpit before I could even open my seat belt."

Connor looks ahead and pushes the accelerator pedal down a bit further.

"They got into the plane, and I was afraid it was going to explode, so I shoved you and some stuff out. Just when I jumped, one of them must have hit my head."

Connor blinks against the images in his mind, the sound of gun fire echoing through his memories. "You shot them."

"I tried." There's the undeniable tone of guilt in that word, and Connor wants to say something, anything, but he can't.

"I think my aim was impaired by the strike. I scared them off, though."

Connor tries to ease his foot off the pedal. They're safe now, he reminds himself. As safe as they're ever going to be. The beeping from somewhere on the back seat is constant.

"And what happened to your shoulder?" he asks finally.

Becker's brow furrows. "I'm actually not quite sure. I think one of them wanted to take my arm with it and thrashed me on the ground when I refused to part with it."

Connor laughs, a nervous giggle that he wants to take back as soon as he hears it. "So you saved me?"

Becker doesn't answer. Connor looks over, surprised again not to see him dressed in black, but in blue jeans and white shirt.

"Have you managed to get a signal yet?"

Connor thinks it's an abrupt change of topic, but maybe it actually isn't. "No. I definitely need more time. Maybe I can –" He knows Becker isn't listening to him any more, and he doesn't really listen to himself.

In the end, Becker speaks again. "I'll drive next."

Connor looks at the way Becker keeps pressure off his shoulder even when he sits, but he doesn't argue.

\---

The oscilloscope beeps calmly, reliably, rhythmically in a way that's become so familiar to them over the last few weeks that they don't really hear it any more, except when it speeds up. Sometimes, Connor thinks his heartbeat has adapted, pounding away in the same slow but insistent bar. It's coupled to the point that when the oscilloscope becomes faster, the beeps more of an alarm than a background noise, Connor's heart speeds up in unison.

It happens every few hours, usually when they drive through cities or forests. Connor suspects that Becker already tries to avoid these routes whenever possible, but there's no point in asking. They don't talk about these things. They have enough food to drive without stopping for a few more days. Instead of breaks, they just switch sides. Connor notices that Becker does most of the driving, but it's probably better that way.

During the days, Connor tries to get a signal for his mobile, his radio, _anything_ , and he tries to sleep a bit. During the nights, he tries to sleep a lot and he tries to build something new and better out of what he finds tossed away at the roadside.

Whenever he has to pee, Becker gets out with him, gun raised, finger on the trigger, circling him slowly. The first few times, he found it impossible to let go. Now he's convinced that in the completely impossible case they survive this, he'll never be able to piss alone again.

They've been going like that for a few days, and it's becoming obvious they can't keep it up for long. Both of them haven't slept more than a few hours in total.

"I think we should drive by daylight and find a good hiding place at night," Becker says, like he's been thinking about this for a long time. "We'll make better progress that way."

Connor nods, trying to hide his relief. He hates driving in the night. Without light, they are even more disadvantaged. Also, it can be really scary.

Becker just starts to suggest something that Connor dearly hopes is a camp for the night, when a very different alarm goes off.

"Connor!" Becker shouts.

"Yeah, yeah, one second," Connor answers while he rummages through the various bags on the back seat. He pulls out the ADD that's been quiet ever since they've started driving.

"It's in this direction," Connor says, his pointing finger waving around. "No, wait."

Becker groans in frustration. "Connor!" he repeats, even louder.

"Yeah, I'm on it." He presses buttons and hopes it's still working like it's supposed to. "It's over there."

Becker pulls the car off the road and heads towards the direction of Connor's confidently stretched out arm. His heart is beating so fast he can feel it flutter beneath his ribcage, and the oscillator speeds up. He tries desperately to ban the phrase _this is suicide_ from his thoughts. They knew it would happen, and they know they have to do this.

The tyres screech to a halt in front of shining shards of what looks like glass. They stare at it for a second, marvelling at the beauty despite everything.

"Take this," Becker says and shoves something into Connor's hand that looks like the biggest gun he's ever seen. Maybe it's just from the close view. He tries very hard not to drop it right away.

Becker is already out of the car, taking cover behind the bonnet. Connor opens the door, carefully balancing oscilloscope, ADD, the miniature locking device and the gun.

"What –" he starts, but then there's already a firm hand over his mouth, and yeah, he knows he has to be quiet. He's afraid they'll hear them anyway with the loud drumming of his heart and the sound of the oscilloscope, but he can't bring himself to shut it off.

Becker makes signs with his hand, and Connor looks at him questioningly. Becker repeats the signs, adding a few gestures, and Connor isn't sure if that was supposed to help him or just sign language for telling him he's a bloody _idiot_ , but at least he finally understands he's supposed to wait here. He nods encouragingly. Becker raises one eyebrow and leaves with soundless steps. Connor fiddles around with his instruments because he has to be prepared and he surely doesn't feel the need to look at the way Becker moves, all competent and elegant.

His head snaps up at sudden gun-fire, and he jumps out from his hiding spot, gun raised and ready to shoot. All there is to see is a smug Becker and two dead corpses at his feet. He gestures for Connor to catch up with him, and Connor moves slowly, one foot in front of the other like he's seen Becker do it.

"Are we close enough?" Becker whispers into his ears.

Connor swallows drily and tries to focus on the devices instead of what his body does with all the adrenaline and Becker's closeness. "I think so." He shifts all the instruments around to press a few buttons on the locking device. The anomaly vibrates and closes down into a shining ball of light. Connor thinks of the animals he's hopefully saved from those predators that would suddenly come down on them to rip out their throats.

"Remember when we locked anomalies to prevent anything coming to _this_ side?" Becker says.

"Yeah," Connor says, his voice too loud in his own ears. "I remember that."

And then the oscilloscope goes crazy.

"They must have realised we're here," Connor shouts over the sound of gunfire. He basically just points, closes his eyes and pulls the trigger. Becker takes out one after the other with calm shots, letting them drop out of the trees.

"You think?" Becker mocks him. "Let's get out of here."

They both move backwards, guns pointed in the trees.

"We should be glad they weren't hungry." Connor lets himself fall down on the passenger seat, adrenaline still racing through his body.

Becker looks at him like he's crazy. Then, he reaches out and rests a hand Connor's shoulder, clasping tight. Connor feels better than he has for days.

\---

They search for a relatively safe place to spend the night, and Becker decides they should look for a cave or a small tunnel that will shield their sounds. Connor is busy watching the sun reflecting in the mirrors and windows when Becker pulls over and stops the car.

"This will do," he says, and Connor can't see anything.

He just follows Becker, and when he finally sees what he's talking about, it certainly looks perfect. There's even a tiny pond behind the cave, and Connor is really looking forward get all the dirt and sweat and fear off his face.

"You look like shit," Becker announces, and Connor thinks he's probably right. He's slept in his clothes for longer than he can remember, and his cheeks feel really stubbly. He has given up wondering about Becker's perfect hair in every situation because there can't be a reasonable explanation for that, but he still wonders how he manages to be clean-shaven every day.

"Come here," Becker says from somewhere at the water, and Connor stalks over, sitting down in the mud without hesitating because there's really not more damage to be done. Becker pulls out a knife, and for a second Connor panics, not because he doesn't trust Becker, but, well, it's a knife. But then Becker turns it around and he sees that it's an old-fashioned straight razor.

Connor swallows, squinting down to see how close the knife is already to his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Don't worry, I won't slit your throat."

Connor doesn't find that reassuring and he might even have said that out loud.

"But if you keep talking …"

Connor shuts his mouth very tightly.

When he closes his eyes, it's almost comfortable. Becker's hands move over his face with gentle determination, and he quickly gets used to the feeling of cold metal scraping over his skin. He opens one eye, and Becker is close, so very close, his breath on his face and his eyes a light brownish green in the sun. Connor feels his stomach jump and he quickly shuts his eye again.

When Becker is done, Connor releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding, and he's not sure why. Becker cleans the knife in the water, and Connor thinks about offering to return the favour, but even he realises that's a stupid idea. "How is your shoulder?" he asks instead.

"Fine."

It's probably not a lie, but Connor can still see his pain in the way he moves, and he worries so much about it that it keeps him awake at night. At least, the wound on the back of his head seems to have healed already, and he feels a bit proud of that.

Neither of them sleeps this night, but it doesn't matter. In the morning, the sun rises, they get back into the car and continue driving.

"I like the car." Connor lets his hands slide over the dashboard. "Do you think we could open a window, just for a few minutes?"

Becker hesitates, and Connor regrets asking the same second. But then Becker sighs and murmurs something that sounds like okay, and Connor keeps his mouth pressed tightly together because he certainly won't squeak in happiness.

The air feels hot and dry on his skin. He breathes in. "It's fantastic," he shouts over the noise of the wind in his ears.

"Be quiet, Connor," Becker hisses, but Connor is so used to this sentence that he decides to ignore it for now. With every breath of clean air, he feels like he can leave behind some of his tiredness, fear and tension.

He opens the window all the way down and wriggles out of his seat to lean outside. The wind blows in his face, tugs at his hair, and he can't stop grinning. It's wonderful.

"You should try it!" he shouts. And it's only then that he hears the sound of very quick beeping.

A hard hand on his collar pulls him back. He lands on the seat with a painful thump.

"Close the window," Becker says. He's calm and quiet, but there's something in his voice that's edging on panic. "Close the window, Connor."

Connor swallows. He manages to close the window in time, but there is no mistaking the figure that zooms out in the rear mirror and screams after them.

"Oh," Connor says, struggling for breath. "That was close."

He doesn't dare looking at Becker. He can imagine the exasperation and frustration there.

"I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot."They stare ahead for a few minutes. There are miles and miles to go.

"No more open windows," Becker says.

Connor recognises the tone in his voice instantly, and he really wished Becker would be angry with him instead of being angry with himself.

The next time they stop, Becker snatches a bag of crisps he's been eating out of Connor's hands and presses a gun in there instead. "You really need to learn how to shoot."

Connor would like to feel happy, excited and maybe a bit honoured, but he knows too well why this is happening, and it scares him.

He can't sleep that night, but he doesn't know if it's because of his usual insomnia, the thrill of handling guns, or the feeling of Becker's hand on his, guiding his finger around the trigger. But he suspects it's mainly because he felt Becker's hand shaking over his.

\---

The only time Connor can get something like sleep is when Becker drives. The sun shines through the windows, the world flies by and he has Becker's leather jacket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

He dozes off, dreaming of endless roads in the sun, waking up to the quiet figure of Becker next to him. It's his life now, and sometimes he can't remember why it should feel strange. He never thinks about the past, and he certainly doesn't think about the future. They're here now, they close all anomalies they can find, they kill whatever comes near enough. It's quite simple.

He has no idea how much time has passed. He knows he could always ask Becker. He could ask him how long it's been since they arrived, how many miles they still have to go, where the hell they actually are, but he doesn't want to know.

They have to stop for petrol every other day, but there's always a deserted petrol station nearby. Becker gets out of the car, gun raised casually. Connor realises how familiar this sight has become. He can't really imagine Becker without a weapon any more. Maybe he never really could. He moves his aching muscles, but he doesn't dare getting out of the car. A few minutes later, Becker returns with two petrol canisters, fills one in the tank and loads the other in the foot well of the back seat. When he slides back on the driver's seat, he drops a plastic bag into Connor's lap. Connor opens it to find a few cans of coke and his favourite chocolate bar.

"Oh, wow, thanks."

"You're welcome," Becker says, his eyes lighting up. He turns the key, and the car purrs to life. "It was practically for free anyway."

Connor opens the chocolate and throws the wrapping out of the window.

"Hey!" Becker says, eyes still fixed on the road, but Connor has learned long ago he sees everything.

"Who'll care?" he mutters under his breath. But of course Becker also hears everything.

"That's not the point. It's just wrong."

Connor thinks of all the meticulously folded clothes, washed out cans and waste separation he's been forced to endure from Becker.

"What about taking food? Isn't that just wrong too?" he asks, teasingly.

Becker's jaw tenses. Connor doesn't know if he's trying not to shout or not to smile. He chews on his chocolate instead for a while.

Becker flicks the indicator and turns back on the main road.

"Wait," Connor says, spraying chocolate everywhere because he forgot to swallow. "Did you just use the indicator?"

Becker's hands tighten around the wheel. Connor is really, really afraid he's about to snap.

"I -" Becker says. "It wasn't -"

Connor watches him closely. It starts with a glint in his eyes, then the corners of his lips twitch and turn up, and then he starts laughing.

And Connor thinks, _huh_. And then he thinks, _I can make Becker laugh._

They keep on driving. The old clock in the car doesn't work, but Connor feels the hours passing. He's bored, and he starts rummaging around the car. When he opens the glove compartment, a few old cassettes fall into his hands, and he eyes them in awe for a few minutes.

"Look what I've found!"

Becker throws over a quick glance. Connor really doesn't know what to expect any more, but it's still a surprise when Becker just sighs and says, "All right then, put them in."

They are full of old songs, songs Connor couldn't name but has probably heard a thousand times before. They keep the volume down, but it's loud enough to be a change from the endless beeping and the noise of the engine.

Connor only notices he's humming along when Becker tells him to shut up. The smile hasn't vanished from his face, though, so Connor thinks he might risk singing along for a while.

\---  
In hindsight, it's probably Becker laughing that sets it loose. He isn't sure. All he knows is that as soon as he's curled up on the makeshift bed that night, he starts to cry. He has no idea why. They're doing pretty well. They've locked up a few dozens anomalies. According to Becker's mood, they're making good progress with the miles. Connor thinks he's really close to getting a signal through. Also, they are not dead.  
Every day, they just keep on driving. They don't look at whatever might lie on the streets or in the cars. They don't breathe in the smell of decaying corpses and rotting food and deserted cities. They don't think about home. They don't think about what has happened there, or here. It works fine.

But there he is, tears running down his cheek, words tumbling out of his mouth about how everyone they know is dead. How actually _everyone_ is dead. He shouts at an unblinking Becker, "What are we even doing here? What difference does it make?"

And then he says, his voice sounding dead and scary to himself, that it would be easy, so very easy, to be stupid, careless, thoughtless for one second. To just walk out into the night.

Becker pulls him up, his hands tight around his shoulders, his face just inches away. "Connor," he says. "Stop."

Connor wants to stop crying, wants to pull himself together, but he has no control over his body any more. Sob after sob shakes through him, and he can't stop talking.

"No," Becker says. "No, Connor."

Connor draws a deep breath. The oscilloscope beeps quietly, slower than his heart beat for once.

"We can't stop now," Becker says.

Connor has never heard him like that, and it makes the sobs cease. He watches light from outside flicker on Becker's cheekbones. There's a hint of stubble on his jaw. "Listen to me. We've come so far. We just have to go on."

Connor nods. He avoids Becker's eyes, childishly hoping if he doesn't look at him, he won't see him like that. "But," he says, his voice cracking over the word. He clears his throat again. "Just … why?"

"Because we have to." Becker gives him one hard shake that makes Connor's teeth chatter, and gets up. For one second, he looks like he's about to hug him, but then he picks up his gun and vanishes into the darkness.

 _Don't leave me_ , Connor thinks. He stares after him into the night. His chest hurts, but that's probably from all the pointless crying. He wipes away his tears and gets the oscilloscope. The tent they've picked up a few days ago must get set up, and it keeps his hands busy. Of course, Becker knew exactly what model he wanted, but he let Connor choose the colour. Becker taught him to set it up, and after the first humiliating attempts, he's become quite good at it. He's done in a few minutes and shakes at the tent poles.

Becker has also shown him how to light a camp fire. When it finally crackles, he moves close, warming his hands. Maybe he isn't such a big failure. Maybe they can do this. Something moves in the darkness, but the oscilloscope is quiet. He watches the figure come closer. It's definitely Becker, but he looks like he's carrying something huge.

"Hey," Becker says, half a smile on his face. "I brought dinner."

He drops a boar in front of Connor. "I hope you can cook."

Connor stares at the boar, at Becker, then again at the boar. "Sure."

"It must have hidden somewhere underground", Becker says. "It probably got out because it felt there's no danger near."

Connor doesn't answer. He's too busy trying not to think about how good Becker looked carrying that animal and how good he looks smiling.

Of course Connor can't cook at all, and of course Becker can.

"That's delicious," Connor says between mouthful of boar, cooked rice and heated up canned vegetables.

"Thank you," Becker says and smiles at him over the fire.

It's the first time they've had fresh meat in forever.

\---

Connor wakes up to the sound of water splashing. He crawls out of the tent and stretches his muscles. He has slept for nearly four hours, his stomach full of things his body has been craving, and he feels better.

Becker has just returned from his early morning jog that he insists on whenever he can, although in Connor's opinion they do enough running throughout the day. Becker has just pulled off his shirt and pours some water over his face. He smoothes his hair back and lets drops of water fall on his chest.

"You're just doing that for the show, aren't you," Connor says under his breath.

Becker laughs. "I'd kill for a shower right now."

It's the first time Connor hears him complain.

"We could go into a house."

Becker freezes for a second, then he starts to get dressed. "You know how dangerous that would be."

Connor knows. Connor also knows the fear on Becker's face. What he doesn't know yet is the hope and longing Becker is trying to hide, but he'd really like to see that for a change. "Just one night."

Becker shakes his head slowly, as if he's trying to get rid off a thought. "No. No, we can't do that."

Connor smiles at him, the muscles straining against the unusual movement. "You forget I'm a genius."

Becker stares off in the distance, frowning. "Okay. What do you need?"

Connor needs a lot of things, mostly different pieces of electronics, parts he didn't bring over because he was sure he'd get them here easily. They have to break into countless shops, crossing items off the list in Connor's head. They encounter several predators, but they're lazy and careless. Becker shoots them before they even realise someone's there.

They choose a house in a small village, hoping that the predators have left this area already. When they drive slowly through the streets, the oscilloscope keeps calm, and Connor can't suppress an excited giggle. "A real house," he repeats over and over again, and Becker laughs.

"Yes, Connor, a real house," he says. "Let's hope water and heat are still working."

As soon as they've entered, Becker sweeps off to check all the rooms. "Clear," he shouts down from the top floor.

Connor looks at the oscilloscope. "Told you so!"

Becker returns, letting the gun drop on the floor. Connor raises his eyebrows, but Becker shrugs it off and stumps into the kitchen. "Can't shake it off, I guess."

He returns with two beers and hands one to Connor. "It's not cold, but at least it's out of a fridge, if you know what I mean."

Connor takes a sip. "I need to set up a few things here."

"Just tell me what to do."

Connor opens the bags and lets all the equipment drop to the floor. "Okay, let's do this."

Connor can't help explaining all the things as they work together, although he knows Becker won't care. It's become a habit of his, just to keep talking to fight the silence, and he's pretty sure Becker doesn't mind as much as he used to. He connects cable after cable, walking around the whole house. He can't wait to try out his invention.

When the invasion came, the ARC was the only institution on earth that had an idea of what they were dealing with. Everyone looked to them for help, and they tried to coordinate research all over the globe, but it was hard with all the catastrophic news coming in hourly. The first results showed the predators' sensitivity to electromagnetic waves, but it was already too late to develop weapons and defence systems. Most countries were already lost, and those with some hope left used an uncontrolled, wide-range EMP, as their last resort.

The EMP killed large quantities of the predators, but by then, they had bred and infested the world thoroughly. Apparently, they recovered quickly, but no one knew about that for sure. Every electronic device was destroyed, all contact lost. Connor thinks humanity sealed its fate when they gave up their one advantage, their technology, but nobody has asked him.

Britain was already abandoned by that time, everyone fleeing overseas. He used the opportunity to stay behind and deepen the research as one of the few who still had their electronics left. He developed a device to calibrate and focus electronic waves, and he hopes with everything he has left that it works.

"It's something like a force shield," Connor says, pressing a few buttons. He punches the air in what he hopes is a somewhat discreet way when the engines buzz to life.

"Like Star Trek?" Becker says, amused, and Connor stops dead in his tracks to stare at Becker's smug grin.

"Yeah," he says. "Actually, yeah, pretty much."

"Are you done here?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure it works?"

Connor pulls a face in mock disappointment of Becker's trust, but then he decides it's better to quickly check the displays again. "I hope so."

Becker chews on his lower lip. "Okay. Call me if you need anything."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to take that shower now."

\---

"A real bed," Connor greets Becker, bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Becker looks cleaner than he has since they left, and he also looks definitely happier. He's dressed in nothing but jeans, and Connor tries very hard not to look. If he looked, he'd see perfectly shaped muscles and scars, and a smile that would make him dizzy.

"A real bed indeed," Becker agrees.

Connor yawns and rests his head on the soft pillows. "Do we have something to eat?"

"Sure."

Becker slowly taps out of the room, rubbing his hair with a towel and leaving behind wet foot prints. Connor is already looking forward to a shower of his own, but he's too tired for now. He pulls off his shirt that is dirt-stained because he hasn't had the time to find a new one that he liked. It's still warm in the house, so he can pull off his jeans too. He looks through the wardrobe for something new to wear, but apparently, the inhabitants of the house had a quite different taste in clothing.

Becker returns, dropping a large pile of snacks on the floor.

"Awesome," Connor says and dives into it.

"Like a picnic." Becker lets himself fall down next to Connor.

Connor pulls down a blanket from the bed and wraps himself in it. They eat in silence, listening for sounds from outside. It's something they both do automatically, without noticing.

"This food is shit," Becker announces, holding up a bag of peanut flips. He tears it open and shoves a handful into his mouth.

"Gimme that." Connor stretches out his hand and snatches the bag. "I love those."

A few minutes later, they are really close to a food fight, but Becker pulls out at the last moment.

"We should get some sleep," Becker says.

Connor crawls into the bed and lies down. He watches Becker checking every corner with his gun, peeking out of the window, eventually going down the stairs to examine the instruments, and Connor's eyes get heavy. He's used to having Becker around, keeping guard. It's the only thing he sees and hears when he lies awake at nights.

"I think we're okay for now," Becker says, laying down the gun and tossing his jeans on the floor. "No need to keep guard tonight."

"Great." Connor yawns again. Then he realises Becker stands around because he's occupied the bed. "I don't mind if you sleep here," he says quickly. It's a king-size bed, and he knows he'll be much more comfortable with Becker as close as possible. He hasn't slept alone for the last few weeks.

"Good."

Connor shifts around, and Becker slips under the covers.

"It's weird to sleep in a bed again," Connor says into the darkness.

"Yeah."

"I'll sleep like a baby."

The silence that follows is crushing and terrible.  
Connor lies very still and wills the world to go away.

It's completely quiet. He can't even hear Becker breathe. He assumes he's already fallen asleep when Becker suddenly speaks. "You haven't been sleeping much at all."

It's not a question, and Connor didn't really think Becker hasn't noticed. He just kind of hoped he would just, well, not talk about it.

"I –"

"Is something wrong?"

"You mean, apart from the fact that everyone's dead and we're the only two people in the world?" Connor wanted it to sound light, but it turns out very, very wrong.

"We don't know that." The answer is quick, rehearsed, automatic.

Connor is suddenly angry and afraid, but most of all he feels guilty. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't want to –"

"It's okay. Don't worry."

Becker takes a deep breath. He sounds very far away at that moment, and Connor has to suppress the urge to reach out and touch him, just to remember he's there.

"You just need a good night's sleep," Becker says. What he doesn't say is something like, _I've seen where this can lead,_ but Connor knows it's there.

"I'm tired," he says. "I really am, but I just can't fall asleep. Can't let go, I suppose."

"I know."

Connor snorts. "You just fall asleep whenever you lie down."

"Well, I had to learn that a few years ago." Again, he doesn't say it, but Connor hears the word anyway. _Afghanistan_. It's not that Connor doesn't know how he does it. He's spent far too much time with nothing else to observe. Sometimes, he thinks it's the best and worst of all this, to know how Becker slips away into the darkness, being left behind with nothing but his imagination and his very inappropriate, very wrong longing.

And this means he knows exactly what Becker is offering when he whispers, "I can help you, you know."

And Connor swallows, desire a hot rush through his body, and it's everything he's ever wanted, and everything he's always tried not to think about because it'll just never happen, except it is right now. He tries to keep the trembling out of his voice when he says, _yes_. And then he says, _please_.

He feels rather than hears Becker move until he's warm against his back, not even touching him yet.

"Close your eyes." Becker's lips are close to his ears.

He has the same reaction every time when they're surrounded by predators, when Becker whispers in his ear because they have to be quiet to save their lives. This one time, he thinks maybe it's okay to get goose-bumps, to feel his skin tingle, to listen to his blood rush through his body. He presses his eyes shut.

"Relax." That's more difficult with every fibre of his body tensed and about to snap, but he tries and takes a deep breath. "Imagine you're somewhere else."

Pictures zoom through Connor's mind, but he can't settle down, can't decide, so he just stays right here and thinks it's where he wants to be anyway.

And then there's Becker's hand on his shoulder, sliding over to his neck and then down his sides. He completely forgets to breathe, and he can feel his muscles under Becker's hand shaking and twitching, no matter how hard he tries to calm down. His body is a mess of tension, need and the constant thought of _oh God, yes_.

Becker's hand slides down slowly, but purposefully, and he hesitates only a second before he pushes the fabric out of the way and closes his palm around Connor's cock. Connor bucks into the touch immediately, cursing his desperate impulse, but there's really no need denying that he's hard, has been hard the second Becker got in the same bed with him, nearly naked.

He's glad he can't see Becker's face, and if he snorted at his reaction, he wouldn't hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He hears himself whimper quietly, though, and that's just embarrassing, but he lost any control a few seconds ago. Becker grabs him tighter and starts to move his hand.

Connor's head falls back against Becker's chest. He wants to beg for something, anything, but he can't think of what because everything is perfect and he thinks he's about to shatter into a thousand pieces any second. Becker holds him, strokes him just like he needs him to, and Connor comes, his whole body tensing up in one hard line, and then he falls down.

Becker moves in close, lets his hand rest around Connor's hips, and Connor thinks he should say something, but he's completely absorbed in the way Becker's heart beats against his back, warm and steady. And then he falls asleep.

\---

Connor wakes up with a jolt in a stream of light. He panics for a second, thinking he's lying somewhere out in the open, waiting for a predator to jump down on him, before he remembers he's safe. His sudden movement wakes up Becker, who's sprawled out next to him, one knee nudging against his.

Becker tenses up, but he relaxes again when he's taken in his surroundings. Connor considers wishing him a good morning, but it's already cheesy in his head.

"How did you sleep?" Becker sounds tired, but there's something different about his voice.

Maybe it's how he sounds when he's actually comfortable.

Connor tries to remember, but there's just a vast nothingness, and that's the best sleep he's had in forever. "Good."

Becker turns around and rubs his eyes.

"Thank you," Connor says very quietly, hoping a little bit that Becker doesn't hear him.

Becker gets out of the bed and repeats the routine of yesterday evening, checking every window and door. Connor needs more time to fully wake up, and he stumbles through the room in direction of the stairs, where he hears Becker's steps.

"Everything okay?" he shouts down.

"I think so."

"Can I grab a quick shower before we go?"

"Sure." There's amusement in Becker's voice, like he's surprised that Connor asks him such things, but Connor knows better than to decide anything by himself. Becker has kept him alive so far, and he really tries not to screw it up now.

Connor goes into the bathroom, smiling at the way Becker has left a few wet towels on the floor. He can barely remember the way he was when they arrived. On a second thought, he also can't remember the time when Becker wasn't the only person in his world. He steps into the shower, turning it up as hot as it will go, and closes his eyes. His whole body still feels alight, like every inch of his skin is electrified and glowing. He cleans himself of layers of dirt and sweat, and then he rolls his shoulder, feeling the tension give way. It's only now that he realises how much he's needed the sleep.

When he turns off the water, he hears noises from downstairs. He'd really like to think it's Becker being suddenly careless, but cold fear settles down in its usual spot, somewhere between the neck and the lungs. He suddenly feels terribly exposed under the shower, and he hurries up, stumbles out of the shower and slides over the wet floor, grabbing his clothes on his way to the stairs, repeating over and over in his head, _Becker will be fine_. He nearly falls over as he tries to run, pull on his tight jeans and listen at the sounds from below at the same time. He can't even find the time to find himself ridiculous.

He's ready to fight his way out, run for his life and never make the mistake of feeling safe again, he promises that, but _please_ , don't let anything happen to Becker. He wants to shout his name, but he can stop himself. He makes enough noise trampling down the stairs anyway.

The first thing he sees are five or six predators, dangerously close. Then, he sees Becker, unharmed and very much alive, and he's so relieved that he wants to let all the words fall out of his mouth that circle through his head. Becker raises his fingers to his lips, all movements careful and deliberate. Connor bites down on his lip and tries to remember and focus on the predators right in front of them.

Becker raises the gun in his hands slowly, his arms forming perfect angles with the barrel, and his finger curls around the trigger. Connor automatically moves closer to him, a reflex he's started training when Becker told him he prefers having him near, to know what he's doing because he really can't worry about predators and Connor doing something stupid at the same time.

"Why haven't they attacked yet?" Connor whispers into Becker's ear.

Becker turns his face a little towards him, eyes still fixed on the aim. And although his whole body is tense and ready to shoot, he suddenly smiles. "Don't you see it?"

And of course Connor sees it, as soon as he manages to think of someone else than fear and confusion and the way Becker's eyes narrow when he smiles and aims. He totally forgot about the electromagnetic field he's set up. The predators come as close as they can, but the force field keeps them at bay.

"It works!" he squeaks. He really tries to keep it down, but the excitement makes his voice crack.

"Yes."

Connor bounces up and down on his heels, and then he can't stop himself any longer and throws himself into Becker's arms. Becker hugs him tight and claps his back.

"It really works," Connor repeats, over and over again. It's the only true good news they've had for a very long time.

The predators go crazy over the sound and movement, scrambling over each other in their hurry to get closer, but the field throws them back.

"How are we supposed to get out now?" Connor asks. Becker has let go off him, but they're still so very close, and Connor doesn't really trust his knees to work right now.

"Can I shoot through the field?"

Connor shakes his head at so much lack of basic physics knowledge. "Of course."

"So? Problem solved."

"Oh," Connor says. "Oh, right."

"Okay, you go up and get our stuff. Be careful, just in case. Then you grab a gun and we shoot our way out."

On his way up, Connor imagines everything that could go wrong. On his way down, he closes his eyes for one second and remembers all the things they've survived. He thinks about the way his new life sometimes feels like one big adventure, a computer game come to life, his one chance to prove that he's really a hero, deep inside. And he thinks about how sometimes, when he doesn't know he's watching him, Becker looks like maybe, just maybe, this is what he's been waiting for all his life.

Connor grabs the gun Becker throws in his direction, raises it just like Becker taught him, and then they shoot and run. Their car is still there, untouched, and when they jump in, slam the doors shut and start driving again, it feels so very good.

\---

This night, they stay outside. Connor thinks he won't need sleep again for at least three more days, but he's not sure how much he knows about those things. They've installed the force field around an area of a few yards. It's such a relief to finally be able move around in the darkness again. It keeps Connor's fear in check, and most of all, it seems to calm Becker's nerves.

Connor stretches out on the grass, watching the sky. It seems weird that the stars haven't changed, but it's reassuring. He knows how evolution works, and he knows life will go on, in some way or another. He takes a deep breath, and he smells something. He sniffs, his senses sharpened by the time spent in nature. It smells like fire and smoke.

He gets up and walks over to the car, and then he stops in his tracks. This time, he's not scared from what he sees. He just doesn't want to disturb the sight. Becker sits on the bonnet of the car, one leg bent, the other stretched out, and smokes a cigarette. The tip glows in the night, lighting his hollowed cheeks as he sucks on it, and then he blows smoke up into the sky.

Connor wants to kiss him. He's never wanted anything so much. He wants to step in, bury a hand in Becker's slightly tousled hair and kiss him like they're the last persons left on earth. It should be really easy, given that they actually are, but he stays routed on the spot.

He can see Becker smile. "What's up, Connor?"

Connor really wished he could sneak up and hide just _once_. "I didn't know you smoked," he says, because there's really nothing else to say.

"I don't."

Connor looks at Becker holding the cigarette delicately between his fingers.

Becker grins broader. It's one of the things Connor hasn't got used to at all yet. Every single one of his smiles feels strange and stolen.

Becker takes another drag. "Well, I used to smoke. I stopped when I joined the military. Health risks and everything."

Connor waits and watches the way his lips curve around the cigarette.

"I guess it doesn't matter now." Becker flips the cigarette away and moves, making room for Connor on the bonnet. It's something Connor didn't expect, but it makes a smile form on his face, and he jumps on it. The motor beneath them is still warm, and it's much better than sitting on the ground. They're closer to the stars. And then something weird happens. Becker starts to talk.

His voice is calm, rough, a hint of hidden depths and pain, when he tells him about his life, his school, his education, the time at Sandhurst. Connor listens to stories about training, war and countless guys with nothing but surnames. He laughs, he gasps, and he asks, but mostly, he just listens. He can hear predators rustling in the forest around them, but he doesn't care.

Becker shifts into another position, moving closer to Connor, letting their thighs touch. Connor tries very hard to keep still and not pull away or lean in. Becker speaks about how he grew up, his family, the way he never really had a chance to find out what he wanted and who he was. "The only thing I knew about me was that I was gay," he says.

Connor blinks. Then he blinks again. Becker keeps on talking.

"It was, well, I guess it was horrible. I mean, I'm sure you know what people like them think about that."

Connor nods, still trying to comprehend that Becker just told him he's gay like it's the most obvious fact in the world. It's not that he didn't know, it's just, _wow_.

"I've never told my family, of course. But I'm sure they know. I haven't exactly tried to hide it." Becker smirks at a thought, and Connor suddenly imagines a younger Becker who doesn't look that different in his leather jacket and with cigarettes, flirting with guys in public while his father tries very hard to look the other way.

Becker looks into the distance, brow furrowed like he's trying very hard to remember something. "I'm glad I am, though," he says suddenly. His voice sounds like it's about to break. "I'm really glad."

Connor looks over. He looks at Becker's eyes which are dark, almost black in the night. He looks at soft skin, wondering for the hundredth time how it still can be so smooth and perfect considering everything they've been through. And most of all, he looks at the way Becker's tongue darts out, hesitating, and then Becker leans in and Connor doesn't draw back and they kiss.

Becker's lips feel delicious and warm and just like he's dreamed, and he moves towards Becker, who's just there and closes his arms around Connor's hips, drawing him closer. Their tongues meet, and Becker tastes like smoke and heat. Connor hears himself gasp helplessly into Becker's mouth.

They part to catch their breath. Becker's hands are around his face, his thumbs stroking over Connor's jaw. Connor finds his hands tangled in Becker's hair, ghosting carefully over the spot where the deep wound used to be, but now it's just hard skin and scars.

"Connor," Becker says.

Connor shudders, his body trembling with everything he could answer and wants to hear. His lips feel swollen, red and hot. Becker looks at him, his eyes rooting him on the spot.

"Sleep tight." Becker hesitates, and then he presses a quick kiss on Connor's lips.

Connor slides from the bonnet, trying not to stumble on his way to the back seat where he curls up under a blanket and needs some time to catch his breath. A glowing red spot outside tells him Becker has lit another cigarette.

\---

Connor holds his mobile up into the air. He has finished his modifications, and if it doesn't work now, he'll have to give up. He keeps his eyes pressed close, his lips forming an endless litany of _please please let it work_. The mobile beeps weakly, and he opens one eye tentatively. It's a signal. It's fluctuating, though, and afraid it might disappear any moment, he sends a simple message without content. It's not possible to direct it anywhere, but he points the mobile towards west anyway, hoping against all better odds, that maybe there's still someone there.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he turns around, looking into Becker's sympathetic eyes.

"Come on," Becker says, and Connor follows him to the car.

The red paint is peeling away from age and is scratched where predators have sharpened their claws.

"We're nearly there, aren't we?"

Becker nods, frowning.

Connor inserts the cassette and pushes _play_. Becker lets a hand run through his hair and taps on the steering wheel with the rhythm. It's the only music they've heard for weeks, and it feels like it's the only music they'll ever need.

They've never talked about where they're going, and they won't start now. They both know it's the last and biggest research and resistance centre, located on the West Coast of the USA. Every survivor was brought there after the government officially declared the British Isles taken over. In the end, the ARC had to flee like everyone else.

The centre was chosen when the news from America indicated fewer anomalies and more resources and some hope. When everyone left, Connor decided to stay behind, in a moment of confidence and madness, to finish his research. The ARC was silent and scary with everyone gone. Becker commanded his men to leave, save themselves, do some good work overseas. Connor could see how uncomfortable Becker was with his decision, but he would never allow any of his men to die in vain, and from this moment on, it started to be only the two of them.

Every contact was interrupted after the EMP, but they couldn't stop hoping America was having some kind of success. The second Connor finished his research, they followed, but when they arrived, well, he doesn't know yet. It doesn't look good. They haven't seen a single survivor in all the time.

Connor looks down on his mobile, but there's no signal any more, no reply, nothing.

"Maybe it isn't working," Becker says, eyes fixed on the road.

"Yeah, maybe," Connor says. He knows it's working, and he's sure Becker knows too. They also know no one could have survived here.

The ADD goes off, Becker swerves around, and they shoot another few of the predators, close another anomaly, and they try not to think about the fact that whatever they do won't ever make a difference.

\---

"This is our last stop," Becker says. He pulls the key out of the ignition and rolls his shoulders.

Connor can only see him flinching in pain because he looks very, very closely.

"I hope you've chosen a nice place, then."

He peeks out of the car to see what used to be a camping place. It's a warm summer night, and they find everything they need for a fire right there.

"I've always wanted to do that," Connor sighs happily. He watches Becker poke in the fire. "Do we have marshmallows?"

Becker rolls his eyes. "Are you serious?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Do you think I always carry marshmallows around with me, just in case you want to revive camping clichés?"

Connor laughs. "There's a little shop right over there." He points in the direction where they came from.

"It's surely not worth the risk."

But Connor is so bored from sitting around that he grabs a gun out of the bag and storms off. He doesn't need to look back to know that Becker will curse, sigh and follow him eventually.

Connor feels it when he goes through the force field, a light prickling on his skin, but it's completely quiet outside. Usually, they don't leave the shield in the darkness, but Connor thinks they don't really have anything to lose at this point.

"Come on," he shouts over his shoulder, and Becker catches up with him in a few quick strides.

Connor ducks in preparation for a lecture about the dangers of running off like that, but it doesn't come. Becker tries to look serious and reproachful, but Connor guesses he's actually hiding a smile.

Connor storms the shop, gun pointing in all the corners like he's learned from Becker, and Becker stays outside to keep guard. It's the first time Connor is actually allowed to do the shopping, so he stands around disorientated for a few seconds. Then, he snatches a huge plastic bag and starts to shove everything in he can find, including a ridiculous wood-cutter shirt he feels is only appropriate for the occasion.

He waves it over his head when he walks out, but Becker is busy crouching on the ground, pointing his gun somewhere in the distance.

"I think I heard something," he whispers. "Can we go?"

"Yeah."

They make it back safe and undisturbed and Becker lets out a loud sigh of relief. Connor shakes out the contents of the bag and wraps himself in the flannel wood-cutter shirt, settling down in what he thinks could be a typical camp fire pose.

Becker laughs and adds a few logs to the fire. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Don't laugh! I'm trying to make up for a life without camping."

Becker snorts and sits down next to him.

Connor opens the marshmallows and looks around for sticks. Becker sharpens them with a pocket knife, snipping the wood chips into the fire. Connor's first marshmallow burns into an ugly lump of sticky black. Becker pulls out a perfectly roasted one and blows gently at it before he hands it over to Connor.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Connor asks in despair.

Becker looks at him. Connor's stomach does its usual, well-trained somersault. Becker cocks one eyebrow and nudges his thigh against Connor's. "No."

"You know," Connor says, but somehow loses track. He ends up staring at Becker instead, who's waiting for him to finish his sentence. Connor moves closer. And then he remembers the rest of his thought. "I really need to do this now."

And he catches Becker's jaw in his hand and tilts their heads together and kisses him. Becker kisses back, his lips and tongue careful and gentle, but Connor moves in even closer, deepening the kiss. After some uncoordinated movements, he finds himself in Becker's lap, never really breaking apart from Becker's mouth. Becker buries one hand in Connor's hair, the other is on his hip, pulling him closer.

"Connor," he says.

Connor stops and looks at him. He can see wide, dark eyes, flushed skin, and even a few freckles he's never noticed before.

He lets one hand run over Becker's face, down the jaw, the soft skin of his neck, and Becker closes his eyes. "We have to keep guard."

Connor notices that his voice wavers.

"You know we're safe," he says.

He can see Becker swallow, and he can't stop himself from attacking his neck with his lips and teeth, tasting sweat and warm skin.

Becker moans into his ear, loud and unabashed.

"Connor," he says weakly. "Connor."

His hands slide under the flannel shirt and pull it over his shoulders and arms.  
Connor captures his lips in another kiss, and Becker shoves him down on the ground, lining their bodies together.

"Fuck it," he murmurs against Connor's shoulder.

Connor arches up against him. "Do you really think this is a bad idea?" he asks, breathlessly.

"No. No, in fact I think it's a very, very good idea." Becker grinds down on him, leaning over to whisper into his ear. His voice is suddenly low and hoarse, and it makes Connor's blood rush down in response. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Oh," Connor says.

He just can't get enough of Becker, the way the muscles in his arms move when he shifts his weight, the endlessness of sun-tanned skin, and most of all, the way Becker holds him close like he'll never let him go again. Becker's hands are surprisingly gentle when he opens all the buttons and zips, and Connor reaches up to get his hands under Becker's shirt, drowning himself in the sounds Becker makes when he lets his hands stroke over all the places he's definitely not memorised whenever Becker pulled off his shirt.

His hand moves down, and Becker shifts to let him go further. Connor captures his lips in another kiss, feeling the need and want there, and he palms Becker carefully through his jeans. Becker pushes into his touch, letting him know exactly how hard he is, telling him that he needs to get naked, right now, and when they're finally pressed against each other, Connor just stops thinking.

It's the natural thing to do with Becker rubbing in all the right places, his cock pressed against his, and he wants it to go on forever, and he also wants more. "Fuck me," he whispers. "Please."

Becker takes a second to move away and stroke Connor's hair out of his face. "I really, really hoped you would say that."

Connor shudders as Becker turns him around and presses himself against his naked arse.

"I've been looking at your arse for weeks," Becker whispers into his ear, his chest pressed on his back when he leans down to suck at Connor's neck. "I can't wait to fuck you."

Connor thinks he might come right now just from Becker's voice in his ear and the way he rubs himself against his arse. He wants to tell him that he really can't wait either, that he's been dreaming and looking and wanting for longer than he can remember, but he can't seem to find his voice. Becker reduces him to desperate moans when he prepares him, one wet finger at a time. He uses nothing but spit, but he keeps kissing and biting and licking the spot right behind Connor's ears that makes him shove back on Becker's hand.

"You ready?" Becker asks. Connor nods, burying his head on his arms, unable to speak. Becker pushes in, careful and slow. It burns and hurts and it's just what he's needed for so long. He feels Becker's hips twitch with barely contained impatience, and he catches his breath for long enough to moan his name. Becker thrusts into him, pushing further and further until he's flush against him. Then, he stops. Connor turns his head around. Becker looks very concentrated, but there's also something else.

"Close your eyes," Becker says. His voice is so full of need that Connor moves against him involuntarily, making both of them shudder. Becker strokes over his back, hands digging into the hard muscles in his shoulder, then carding through his hair. Connor relaxes under him, and emotions he doesn't remember swallowing down come up again. It's pure hot tight burning desire, a feeling so strong it makes him shake and clench, and he thinks no matter what happens, he'll always remember that.

Then Becker starts to move, and the world fades away. There's a tiny burst of white light exploding every time Becker thrusts in, and Connor pushes back, begging him to go faster, harder, anything, _please_ , and Becker speeds up. His breath comes in hasty gasps, and he reaches around and grabs hold of Connor's cock. Connor needs only a few seconds of teasing, coordinated movements until he comes with a desperate groan, and Becker fucks him through it, following him with one last, hard thrust.

Becker falls down heavily on top of him, but Connor can't get himself to care. He can feel Becker moving his shoulder, remembering with a pang of guilt his barely healed fracture. He wants to say that he's sorry, but he can't find a sentence in which it doesn't sound like he's regretting what happened.  
"I'm –" he says.

Becker turns his head around and kisses him, lazy and slow. Then, he finally pulls out and rolls off him. Connor immediately misses the warmth and touch. Becker lets him curl against his chest and holds him tight. In this moment, Connor feels like he doesn't need anything else in the world.

\---

They spend the last part of their journey in silence. Connor has offered to drive, and Becker has nodded and smiled at him, brow furrowed with worry. Hours later, he still looks worried, and Connor reaches out, surprised about how easy it suddenly is, and strokes over the unfamiliar stubble on Becker's cheeks.

He knows everyone is dead. He's known from the moment he'd seen them fly away, and he's known when they arrived, and he's known when he never got a signal. But he also knows they still need to get there, see what's left, even if it is nothing at all.

He won't cry, and he won't break down and scream. He'll just look and then turn around and go.

"It's here," Becker says. His voice sounds hoarse. Connor doesn't know if it's because he hasn't used it for a long time, or if it's because of the way he moaned and panted the night before. It doesn't make a difference any more.

He sees the driveway and sets the turn light, just to see Becker smile for real again. He does, a smile that starts in the eyes, crinkling the skin around it, and Connor thinks it'll all be okay. They haven't seen a predator for days, but that doesn't mean they couldn't be watching them from the trees above right now.

They are close enough to see the building, and it looks so similar to the ARC that Connor feels something like homesickness, a longing deep down to return and look at their home just one more time. This building is completely destroyed, though. The sign with the logo over the entrance hangs loose. It's obvious that whoever was here didn't go down without a fight, and Connor feels slightly proud of that.

He stops the car. They take a deep breath, then reach around for the guns. The movements have become natural, just like opening the doors, sliding out and checking their surroundings. Becker moves forward, and Connor follows him on the heel, backing him up. They carry the oscilloscope with them. The beeping is steady and calm.

The front door is blown out and lies a few yards away in the forest. The walls are blackened and cracked. They move carefully, watching the ceiling, hoping that if the building hasn't collapsed yet, it won't now. There was an explosion here, or a fire, or probably both. The predators have left their trails all over, but they seem to have left a long time ago and taken what they've found as prey with them.

When they reach the main room, Connor doesn't need Becker's look to know that this is the place where the explosion took place. There's debris and mortar everywhere, and they see bodies trapped under the fallen ceiling. Connor moves closer, kicking away stones and wood with the tip of his shoe. Becker is right behind him.

"Is that …?"

There's Becker's hand on his shoulder, warm even through his shirt.

"No," Becker says. The pressure of his hand makes Connor turn around and walk away. "No, that didn't look like them at all."

When they're back at the car, no one talks for a few minutes. They know they'd be safer inside, but Connor can't bring himself to get in yet.

"They've probably left in time and are now somewhere else, hiding and organising new defence."

Connor looks over, searching for something in Becker's eyes.

"We'll just keep on looking," he says. His voice doesn't scare himself like he thought it would.

"Yeah," Becker says. "Yeah, we'll keep on looking."

The sun shines into Connor's eyes, and he shields them with his hand. Becker hands him a cigarette and flicks his lighter. Connor leans down to light it, then sucks in the smoke, drawing it into his lungs, letting it burn inside him. Becker's hand is on his shoulder again, and he leans into the touch.

"Let's go," Becker says.

"Yeah."

 

 


End file.
